


My mother was a savior

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [54]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Organas and Larses reveal hard truths about Leia and Luke’s mother and grandmother</p>
            </blockquote>





	My mother was a savior

There is a time after Padmé’s death where Bail and Breha are truly fearful. If the Emperor was able to discover her location, there’s no knowing what else he might be aware of. Leading the Alliance is the least of their troubles.

Either he is biding his time or he is still unaware of Leia’s existence. Breha lets out a small sigh of relief when nothing seems to come of it. ( _Something to offer them a measure of comfort these days._ )

The next fear they must confront does not take the shape of the maniacal hooded man on Coruscant, but the tiny girl in the nursery.

“We have to tell you something very important.”

Breha sits Leia in her lap on her bed; Bail kneels in front of them and holds Leia’s hands.

“You know how there was a baby boy who was your brother? Well, there’s something different between you and him. He wasn’t adopted; you are.”

Breha doesn’t let her voice waver.

Leia’s face screws up in hurt and confusion, not fully understanding her new position in the galaxy. ( _Would that they didn’t have to tell her so young, that they were not all shouldering these burdens._ )

Leia speaks in a small voice, “Adopted?”

Bail mercifully picks up for her, “Raymus grew inside your mother; you did not, but that does not –”

“No! You’re my mother! My mother!”

Leia wrenches her hands out of Bail’s, clings to the front of Breha’s dress, and sobs ‘my mother’ over and over again. Nothing they do or say consoles her; it does not console them.

When Leia’s hysterics completely exhaust her into a mercifully quiet sleep, Breha slips out of the room for air. Bail remains rooted next to the bed, hands holding Leia’s bunched-up fists.

Breha covers her face with her hands, trying to ease the tense, pulling sensation of her skin, behind her eyes, from all her own unshed tears.

She offers up prayers to the gods: thanks for the courage for Bail and herself to tell Leia now, before the truth became any more painful.

Breha also offers up her selfish thanks that Leia only wants them.

\----------

“Do we tell him?”

Owen holds his head in his hands and does not look up. Beru slides down next to him at the table, wrapping her arms over his shoulder. There are already so many things they keep from Luke; they did not think to be adding another.

Their second trip to Anchorhead was less of a success than the first. Oh, they found what they needed all right, and then some. Owen had been in the mechanic shop, Beru and Luke were elsewhere, but they met there earlier than expected. Beru practically dragged an ill-looking Luke into the shop; she looked equally distraught.

“When did Anchorhead get its own auction block?”

While sales ( _Owen considers the word loosely_ ) happen in backrooms in Anchorhead, they were only that, never for public viewing. Leave large-scale spectacles for the likes of Mos Eisley.

Not _their_ town.

The place is considered more and more of a port town, so it is grudgingly to be expected. But the pinched, dazed look on Luke’s face enrages Owen to the point where he does not want to take the change lying down.

The boy’s only eight, for goodness sake. ( _Owen didn’t even see a block and the pens that accompanied it until he was fourteen._ )

Luke was silent on the return home and went straight to his room.

And now here Owen and Beru sit.

“We ought to give him everything we can,” Beru replies.

Extracting himself from her hold, Owen goes to knock on Luke’s door.

“Luke, your aunt and I would like to speak to you.”

There is shuffling on the other side of the door; it opens and he trudges to the kitchen like he faces punishment. Owen follows.

They all sit at the table, rather awkwardly.

“Your aunt and I – after today – we figured it was a good time to tell you more about your father and,” Luke’s eyes light up; Owen feels his stomach somersault, “your grandmom just as much, more.”

If something deflates in Luke, he doesn’t let it show.

Owen fervently wishes he had a way with words, to spin stories like ma, to charm his way out of things like –

“Hell, there’s no easy way to put this,” he begins, but Beru cuts him short before he can cause any damage. He is forever grateful. Anything coming from Beru is softer, gentler, than from him.

“We want you to understand what it was you saw today in Anchorhead. Your father and grandmother were slaves, before they came here. We don’t want to tell you to make what you saw today more upsetting, but we want you to understand the truth. If you want to talk to us about it, we don’t want you to be afraid.”

Luke considers for a moment, then, “How long were they slaves?”

Owen shifts his weight around uncomfortably, but Beru’s already made the promise, “Far as I know, most of their lives before they came here.”

“But then he – they were free, right?”

“Your father got away pretty young, but yeah, they were free.”

Owen’s proud of his pa for many things, and publicly, he’d say the farm is the greatest source of pride, but really, it’s that.

“And grandmom – she didn’t have to see that stuff ever again, right?”

“No,” Beru answers.

“Good,” says Luke, more firmly than Owen’s ever heard him.

Luke’s a far more contemplative boy than his father ever was, or at least, as Owen remembers him. But Owen’s known Luke longer than he ever knew Anakin.

\----------

Leia twists her hands together under the long sleeves. She hates this dress, but at least it conceals her nervousness. She can’t let father see she’s anxious, or he might never answer her.

Father follows her out into mother’s garden; Leia can sense he still has his own worried look on his face.

She finds a mostly dry bench, though it is too late for the dress, soaked through at the hem. Father sits next to her.

“Leia –”

She never finds out what father meant to say in that moment.

“Who were my real parents?”

Father is stunned silent, more hurt washing over his face. It makes Leia want to cry, but she has to know. What if she loses him, where will she go, who will she have? It’s foolish thought; she’ll have mother’s siblings and father’s sisters, but the words “mother and father” mean more to her at ten.

When he doesn’t respond right away, she asks again, bordering on desperate, “Who were they?”

He must know, he has to know. Father knows everything.

Finally, slowly, he begins, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about your father, but your mother…”

Leia bunches the material in her hands, almost feeling greedy.

“Do you remember Sidonie Panteer?”

Leia strains to recall the name; it is a vague recollection at best.

“I’ve seen the name on a few Alliance holos,” she says, embarrassed that it’s the best she can muster.

“She used to help us with the Alliance. If you don’t remember the name, you might remember she used to come to dinner occasionally when you were younger.”

“ _Yes, yes, yes_ ,” Leia’s heart pounds. She nods instead.

Father inhales tremendously; he looks so sad. “She died a long time ago. She was off-world and her ship was attacked. We never knew if it was coincidence or the Emperor was looking to send a message to the Alliance, but –”

Leia, suddenly angry, “How could she do that?! Endanger the Alliance like that?”

Before she can say any more foolish things, father cuts her off. His tone is sterner than he’s directed at her in a while, “There are some things more important than the Alliance, Leia.”

“Then what about me?” She never asks the question.

Instead, “I miss mother so much.”

She buries her face in father’s chest, he hugs her close. It is a gesture that used to make her feel safe, but now he is just as tired and frightened as she is.

“I miss her too.”

_My mother, my mother, my mother._

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
